


A Father's Touch

by Bowtiez



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angry Martin Whitley, Bad Parent Martin Whitly, Blood and Violence, Good Parent Gil Arroyo, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapped Malcolm Bright, Kidnapping, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Martin Whitley Being Kind of Helpful, Parental Gil Arroyo, Protective Gil Arroyo, Sad, Serial Killers, Torture, Trauma, Whump, Worried Gil Arroyo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowtiez/pseuds/Bowtiez
Summary: At a loss for what to do about Malcolm's disappearance, Gil Arroyo resorts to speaking to the one man who could possibly have any insider knowledge on the matter at hand. He never thought he'd stoop this low, but desperate times call for desperate measures.Martin hasn't gotten any guests recently, but he's definitely not expecting isolation to be broken byGil Arroyo, the man to put him where he was, knocking on his door and demanding they speak.Malcolm's going to need all the help he can get.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel, Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly
Comments: 5
Kudos: 92





	A Father's Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Martin's trying to be a good dad, and Gil's just trying to find his son, no matter what he's got to do. Parental!Gil again because I love it. And I hope you guys do too. 
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy my first fic of 2020! <3

Martin Whitley knew he was clever. Bordering on genius, really. 

It was hard not to see himself in a positive light, what with being a successful serial killer. Who else could really say they’d murdered twenty-three (publicly known) people and gotten away with it for _years_? Could say they’d mentored newer serial killers and helped them along on their journey? Helped shape young minds looking to go down the same path he’d gone down. 

It was pretty amazing, if you really looked at it. 

And in his day to day life, he was well known by all and a loyal father to his children. 

He was a highly praised surgeon, saved many a life, known by most and even had medical procedures named after him. Pretty damn successful in his opinion. 

Plus, to top off all of the goodness he’d supplied the world, he’d created two beautiful people. His little baby girl, Ainsley, and his darling boy, Malcolm, whom he loved with everything. He was a family man, what could he say? He simply adored his two beautiful children... 

His connections to the outside world. 

He was a proud father. 

Ainsley, his little reporter. He watched her every day, making sure he could see her every appearance on television. Support her from his cell, be a doting father in the only way he really could be given the circumstances. 

And Malcolm. 

Malcolm, his son. His perfect little profiler. So cute. 

The boy had always been interested in the human body, and dare he say murder? Martin had been almost positive that his son would follow in his footsteps- be the next big serial killer. After all, if he himself was clever, Malcolm was in fact a genius. He had hopes of the two of them teaming up; a father-son duo that would be unstoppable- 

That, of course, went up in flames when his boy called the cops on him. Pity. They could’ve made headlines together. Malcolm had done so, so _well_ on the camping trip. 

Then, to kick him while he was already down, the boy decided to joined the FBI by becoming a Criminal psychologist, and profiling for them. The exact opposite of what Martin wanted for the boy. 

He’d gotten over it though. Malcolm had a knack for solving cases and being a profiler. A very good profiler, might he add. It had taken the boy narrowing all his patient files down to two for him to see that, but now he had. And he was proud of the boy. Of his boy. 

And if Martin looked just right... at just the right angle, he could still see some of himself in his son. No matter how hard his son tried to hide it, and smother it under a false mask. It was there, and it always would be. Because Malcolm was just like him. 

That same drive, just in different directions. 

The same glint in his eye as he spoke about a case that Martin knew he had when speaking about a murder he’d committed or someone else’s that interested him. 

And what more could a father want than his son to be happy? Happy and just like himself. 

Maybe it was narcissistic. 

It probably was, but Martin was proud of who he was. Of what he’d done for the world- flaws and all. He had journals upon journals filled with experiments that could better society and modern day medical. Sure, some had to lose their lives, but it was for a worthy cause, wasn’t it? 

Some could argue that Martin was insane for his way of thinking, he was in an insane asylum, after all- but he wasn’t in _prison_. When in one’s position, you really needed to see it in a positive light. He could pass for crazy. To plead insanity had been the best course of action. He had an illness. Wasn’t right in the head. 

And people believed him- well, most did. He had had years of being a world renown surgeon under his belt. People were bound to feel torn between him saving some lives and taking others. Understandable. People were allowed their own opinions. 

For years Martin had nothing to do other than sit and think. Think about what could have been. Think about where his kids were, and what they were doing. Think of his Jessica... Think of those he’d been mentoring, and the patients he still had looking up to him and where everyone was. 

Think about Malcolm. 

The first time he’d seen the boy, after ten years, he was pleased. Malcolm had grown. He was still perfect in the man’s eyes, even if Martin found his life choices dreadful. But he could still see himself in his boy, and that’s all he could really ask for. 

Offspring that resembled him. Malcolm could change his last name, sure, but he would never rid himself of his mannerisms. 

No one could say he wasn’t smart. Martin knew he was. 

The Quartet. 

It had been clever when he’d first committed the murder, and it was even more so when he sent someone else to perform it once more. He knew Malcolm would get involved. His son had always been oh-so interested in his crimes. And nothing would stop his boy from shoving his nose into this one. 

It was hitting close to home for his son. 

And just like clockwork, Malcolm appeared. Ten years late, bright-eyed and determined to put an end to the murderer. His clever, clever boy. 

So, Martin helped. He helped his boy stop the final murder of The Quartet remake, despite how it physically hurt him to put an end to it. Choices had to be made if he wanted a relationship with his son again. 

From there, things just blossomed. 

Jessica made her way to see him next, threatening him- but the sentiment was there. That was followed by his dear little Ainsley, who he hadn’t seen since she was five-years-old. He was beyond delighted to see his girls, as much as he loved his son, it was a nice change of pace. 

Then, against all odds, Ainsley wanted to _interview_ him. He was a flattered, of course, even knowing what she was planning. Wanting to make him out to be this terrible human being who steals lives. Not off-kilter per se, but definitely not what he wanted to world to see. 

So, he came up with another plan, involving one of his fellow inmates. Orchestrated a plot that would make him look good in his little girl’s eyes. And everything was even better when Malcolm showed up too. It was such a relief to see his two kids in the same room, joined with him for what was sure to be a delicious show of selflessness on his part. 

And in deed it was. Everything went off without a hitch. The lockdown, the stabbing. The guard letting his cuffs come off so he could perform immediate surgery on Ainsley’s lover. 

Even Malcolm passing him the scalpel, which gave the man more of a thrill than performing an operation after so many years. 

It had been worth it all. Ainsley once again looked at him like he was her father, instead of a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. It’s the little things in life. 

Isolation hadn’t been part of the plan though. 

He hadn’t expected to be tattled on, but when you’re working with outsiders, there’s unknown flaws at the end of the day. It did kind of suck that he was getting put away in isolation after he’d saved a man’s life (though to be fair he had been the one to put him in danger in the first place) and finally got into his daughter’s good graces again, but it was whatever. 

It’s not like he hadn’t not had visitors before. He’d had ten years to himself. What’s a few more? 

This is why, when a heavy knock on the solid door sounded, the man sat up abruptly in his cozy little isolation room. Interest was piqued instantly. He didn’t get visitors, and he only really say guards at meal times, which was not now. 

Maybe he’d been good enough, and they let Ainsley, or maybe Malcolm in to see him? 

The next second later, the door was pushed open, and Martin tilted his head to see his guest. Behind his guard, was one Gil Arroyo. 

The man chained to the wall deflated, scowling at the presence of the other, dressed in full police uniform. Oh _goodie_ , something police related. 

He’d already been questioned by the police for his little stunt. Not that he said anything. Martin knew anything he said would look bad, so he kept his mouth shut. 

Despite hating the man stood in front of the door that closed heavily behind him, he couldn’t help but be curious of him. Malcolm _adored_ this man. This man had taken his son from him, and he was the reason that Martin was locked away from his family in the first place. 

He turned his head away, still refusing to speak. 

“Quite the stunt you pulled,” the other’s voice rang. It was bland, uninterested. Clearly, Arroyo didn’t want to be here, which raised the question of _why he was here?_ “You’re all over the news,” the man continued, “clever.” 

Martin gave the man side-eye, trailing his gaze from the man’s perfectly shined dress shoes, up to his hard, narrowed eyes. He still didn't speak, having nothing to say to the man. 

“Malcolm was a mess,” the man added. And now, Martin looked over. The mention of his son would always draw in his attention. Anything anyone could tell him. “His shake,” the man continued, lifting his own hand and doing a little imitation of the familiar shake of Malcolm’s hands, just in case Martin didn’t know what he was talking about (of course, he most certainly _did_ ), “it’s been worse. Not that you’d care.” 

Martin bristled at that. Sat up straight and all but growled at the man who was intruding all over his son, and had been for _years_. Who did this man think he was to be coming in here and speaking like this to him? 

“I care very much,” the man ground out behind gritted teeth. “I love my son.” 

The man had the audacity to _scoff_ at him, and Martin was absolutely _livid_. 

“He speaks,” Gil sneered, arms crossing over his chest. Martin didn’t do anything but glare back. 

Gil tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing in thought when the other had nothing more to say. “Malcolm’s a good kid,” the one by the door filled the angry silence, “he’s still a good kid, even after _you_. He wasn’t born with that tremor.” 

The doctor bristled where he was sitting, feeling a tug of guilt that was quickly over shadowed by anger. Ainsley had brought up those exact same points during the interview. It was a sensitive topic. 

“What would you like, Detective Arroyo?” Martin schooled his features, appearing cool and collected despite the urge to punch the wall, scream and lash out. 

“Malcolm.” 

It was easy, simple. Utterly confusing. 

“You expected to find him here?” the man laughed bitterly, “I took you for a smarter man, Detective. I’m still in solitary confinement, I’m afraid. I’m sure you would’ve needed some sort of special reasoning to even be allowed to step foot here, let along get to talk to me while I’m on isolation.” 

Gil stood stonily. Eyeing the room and the inmate contained by the cement walls. It was quite the downgrade from Martin’s original cell, and that made the detective happy. 

Martin watched in return. Any little tell he could get from the man. Any possible reason he could be here for a visit. It wasn’t a personal visit- way too much effort for that. This was something important, which had the man on the bed perking up. 

“How is my boy, anyways?” he finally asked, confidence filling the room, “phone privileges have been revoked, if you can believe that. A bit harder to contact people, if you know what I mean?” 

“I don’t know.” It was quiet, scared. An unsettling silence filled the room. Martin watched, mouth falling open. _I don’t know._ Confidence was gone, and suddenly he was filled with a feeling of impending dread. 

“You...” Martin swallowed nervously, wetting his dry lips, “you don’t know?” 

Then, anger: “What do you mean you don’t _know_?” 

“I mean,” the man looked up, eyes red with anger, “he’s gone. He’s been taken, and no one knows where. Someone has him, and they have for _weeks_.” 

Martin froze, eyes staring, but unfocused. 

“Weeks?” the doctor muttered weakly, “what happened to him?” 

Gil gave a humorless laugh, straightening his back. “Malcolm was working a case. Turned out that our guy was just a lead off of the Junkyard Killer, I’m sure you’ve seen him.” Gil gave Martin a pointed look. 

He had seen. He’d actually been proud of him. His streak rivaling Martin’s own, not that he’d comment on that. Paul, as he preferred, was a bit of a headcase. A Christian Supremacist, who thought he was making the world a better place, taking out one junky at a time. 

“Malcolm called... he... he said he’d gotten a lead- that everything pointed back to Paul Lazar. That kid,” the detective’s eyes dropped to the floor, “that kid went on his own. Hung up and hasn’t been reached since.” 

That made Martin’s stomach churn. He liked Paul, had at one point trusted the man. Invited him on the camping trip, and even trusted him with Malcolm back then. 

But he no longer did. The guard had told him what the man had done to his son. How he’d gotten the information, Martin didn’t know, but he certainly didn’t take kindly to anyone _crushing_ his son. Martin had been clear, that his family was to be kept out of everything- no matter what. No harm was to come to Malcolm, or Ainsley- or even Jessica. 

And Paul had gone against that. Broken the truce of it all. 

The thought riled Martin up. Angered him that someone could put bruises on his son’s body- had cracked two of his ribs. And had he not been contained like a caged animal; Martin would have put a stop to that instantly. 

“I don’t like you,” Gil finally spoke again, “and I know you don’t like me. But we’re on common ground here. Malcolm is in _danger_ , and if you care about him like you said you do, well, then, we need your help.” He paused, bit his lip before dropping his gaze, “ _Malcolm needs your help_.” 

Martin didn’t like Gil. Never had. The stupid police officer sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Now he’s here, practically begging for help. Martin would be please, had it not been for the fact his son was in danger. That Malcolm was with Paul, and he was most definitely in immense danger. 

The doctor cleared his throat, standing from the bed to stare directly at Gil, who watched him cautiously. 

“Paul Lazar,” Martin spoke, strong and fuming, “or, John Watkins if you’d like to get technical. He’s got many names, but that’s his given.” 

“John Watkins,” Gil repeated, memorizing it. “What else you got?” 

Martin flashed a small, playful smirk. This was against everything he stood for as a mentor. Everything he'd worked to hard to keep concealed. Every promise he'd made to John- but John had taken the first shot. John had done this to himself. 

John was touching things that belonged to Martin, and he wouldn't stand for that. The man knew better. Family was off limits, no matter how close to uncovering things they were. Stupid, stupid, John. 

The doctor was not happy about teaming up, but willing to for Malcolm. For his son’s safety, he’d power through this. “Well... there’s this cabin-” 

\---- 

“Dani, JT we’ve got info. I need units to two addresses. We’ve got him, team.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next part will be checking in with Malcolm and John. Gil and the team finding him and the emotional heartbreak we all need. Angsty stuff coming soon!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments are greatly appreciated! :P


End file.
